


Coming Into Season

by Nomanono



Series: In Season [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha Yuri Plisetsky, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 03:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11592402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: “If it was heat I guarantee you’d be bent over this rail for me.” Victor made a point of taking a deep huffing breath near Yuri’s neck, behind his ear. “But you just stink of sweat.”





	Coming Into Season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hallaburger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallaburger/gifts).



> I tend to write fanfic, not read it, so don't know generally accepted fan universes*. That said, my friend talks about this "ABO" tag all the time. One day, they mentioned the word 'knot' and I was all "Hold up, like a dog cock knot?? ......is this ABO thing just dog sex in disguise?" 
> 
> "Oh. Totally." 
> 
> Well then. As the owner of way too many male dogs, I happen to know a thing or two about that.
> 
> *(This also means I have NO IDEA what established expectations there are for this universe. I'm makin' it up as I go, y'all)

It was getting worse.

Yuri stood at the edge of the rink, one hand on the rail to keep him from swooning. He hadn’t been able to think straight since he woke up, and now he was lucky to string even two thoughts together. 

“Again!” Yakov called behind him. 

Yuri fisted his eyes closed, but when he opened them he still felt lightheaded. Despite wearing nothing more than his athletic pants and a loose shirt he was sweating like he’d been buried in a wool coat. 

What _was_ this? He’d never had a fever like this before.

“Yuri! I said again!”

“I heard you, dammit!” Yuri shouted.

When he tried his routine he fell on his triple axel, and instead of getting up he just rested with his forehead on the ice, soaking in the heavenly chill as his internal temperature made the surface slick. He could hardly hear Yakov over the pounding in his head. 

— 

Most of the older skaters watched Yuri in amusement, snickering at his flush cheeks and dazed eyes, recognizing the symptoms for exactly what they were. 

It was Victor who finally took pity. 

“First time, huh?” Victor asked, patting Yuri’s shoulder. Yuri turned and snarled, the lingering growl in his throat something Victor hadn’t heard before. 

“Back off, old man,” Yuri rumbled. With practiced ease, Victor subdued his own growl before it could manifest.

“You should take the day off, go to a parlor,” Victor said. 

“What?!” Yuri all but roared. He was panting even though he’d stopped skating minutes ago. His chest rose and fell like his heart was trying to punch its way out of his chest. What the hell was Victor talking about?

Victor sighed. “You’re in your first rut. Look at you. You can hardly _talk_ much less skate.”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed to pinpricks. “Wh- I- “ Yuri shook with the sudden realization. “No! No - It can’t — I can’t be a — You said _rut_.“ 

Victor smirked, leaned in to Yuri’s space. He watched Yuri’s heckles rise, heard the instinctive growl ramp up in Yuri’s throat again: “If it was heat I guarantee you’d be bent over this rail for me.” Victor made a point of taking a deep huffing breath near Yuri’s neck, behind his ear. “But you just stink of sweat.”

Yuri lashed out, both hands thrusting at Victor’s chest, and without thinking his teeth suddenly sank into Victor’s forearm. Victor responded instantly, slamming Yuri’s chest down on the rail and sliding into place behind him. He pinned him and latched his jaw on the back of Yuri’s neck in a way that made it absolutely and completely clear Victor had done this many, many times before. Yuri’s eyes went wide, frozen. 

Victor’s teeth tightened until the faint iron taste of blood calmed his rage. 

“Knock it off you two!” Yakov called, and Victor loosened his jaw but held Yuri down a moment longer. His forearm was already starting to bruise where Yuri bit, but he hadn’t broken the skin. 

“Tell him you’re leaving,” Victor whispered. 

“I’m done for the day!” Yuri called over his shoulder, fist beating the rail. 

“So am I,” Victor turned, letting go of Yuri and flashing Yakov a smile. Beneath his breath he said to Yuri: “Meet me outside.”

And Victor left the rink to the tune of Yakov’s yelling.

— 

Yuri stumbled outside several minutes later, but his eyes weren’t quite focusing right. He kept catching scents on the wind, legs taking him after them before he even knew he was moving. 

Victor’s hand latched around his neck. 

“Ah ah,” Victor said, easily side-stepping Yuri’s furious but uncoordinated kick. “Come on. We’re going to get you help.” 

The hand fell to Yuri’s back, where it was less likely to trigger any of the hypersensitive instincts starting to come to life in Yuri’s body. More than once Yuri tripped over himself in his near delirium, pawing at his shirt in desperation to take it off. 

Too hot. It was all too hot. 

Victor knocked on the door to the parlor, thick locks at the edge preventing any over-eager suitors from entering. The window in the door opened, revealing a smiling host, and Victor nudged Yuri forward. 

“He needs a room for his rut,” Victor said. 

“ID.” 

Yuri tried to focus on the man behind the door, swallowing a dry mouthful of need. 

“Yuri?” Victor nudged, his own wallet already out, ID being checked. Yuri stared at Victor. 

Victor sighed, pat at Yuri’s pockets until he pulled out a tiny wad of cards and bills secured by a hair tie. The rumble in Yuri’s throat had grown into a full out growl by the time Victor pulled back, hands placatingly raised. Victor sifted through the cards and held out Yuri’s ID. 

“Too young,” the host said. 

Victor growled. “Look at him!” 

Yuri was hunched over, the rise and fall of his breathing making his whole body move. When he looked up it was with dilated pupils, teeth not quite hidden behind his lips. 

Victor continued: “It’s his first rut; he needs help through it.”

“Rules’re rules,” the host frowned in apology. “We’ll be happy to help _you_ , but your friend needs to stay outside.”

— 

Victor’s apartment had the empty elegance of affluence: very few things, but each of them unreasonably luxurious and most of them unnecessary art. The moment they made it inside Yuri tried to take his shirt off again, and this time Victor didn’t stop him. He locked the door behind them and stretched his limbs. Being around Yuri in such a state was starting to affect him, and he had to consciously work to keep his heart rate down. 

He grabbed water from the sink and when he turned around Yuri was naked, standing in front of the open refrigerator letting the cool air waft over him. His hips were moving of their own accord, slowly thrusting, but his hands weren’t anywhere near his crotch. Perhaps the greatest curse of coming into season was losing the ability to self-satisfy. 

Victor’s lips, momentarily bowed in sympathy, curled back in an uncontrollable, disgusted grimace as he smelled the drips leaking from Yuri’s blood-red erection. 

The bloodlust rose up in him again, the need to dominate and prove his supremacy against his competition. Yuri was in Victor’s territory, filling it with his scent, and Victor had to calm every muscle in his body to keep from acting on that impulse. Instead, he pawed Yuri’s back. 

“Come on,” Victor said, and he avoided Yuri’s flailing attack, snapping teeth. “You want to fight me? Come on.” And he backed towards the bedroom.

— 

Yuri hated him. 

He didn’t even know why, but suddenly Victor Nikiforov was the worst thing on the planet. He stalked Victor to the bedroom, watched Victor take off his shirt and lay down, exposing his stomach and his neck and _that idiot_ — 

Yuri leaped on him. Just before his teeth could connect with Victor’s neck, the elder skater grabbed his shoulders and flipped him. He struggled under Victor’s sudden crushing weight, clawing at the thick plush duvet beneath him. Had he been even slightly more aware, he would have been horrified at the noises coming out of his mouth, guttural roars as he fought Victor’s hold. But he couldn’t hear them over his heartbeat, and he couldn’t hear Victor’s words either.

Then something different happened. 

Yuri felt another’s touch between his legs, grasping that pulsating, blinding sun of energy bobbing at the very base of him. His struggles didn’t stop - he hated Victor still, hated the feel of him and the smell of him and the idea of him - but he couldn’t focus on much beyond that touch. 

Victor’s teeth encased his neck again, finding the previous wound they’d inflicted and clamping onto it, opening it once more. Yuri stayed frozen, awkwardly propped on hands and knees, body torn between fighting his captor and bucking towards that sensation he so desperately, desperately needed. 

— 

“That’s it,” Victor said against Yuri’s skin. He kept his eyes closed. The smell was only going to get worse, resistance harder. But he’d drawn blood with his latest bite, and whatever combative, competitive drive surged up in him, he’d be able to slake the bloodlust that way. 

Between Yuri’s legs, his hand drifted, stroking from tip to base. It felt like a molten rod, burning up to the touch. Yuri’s whole body felt that way, like a furnace with no outlet, pent up energy bleeding out of his skin because it had no other way to escape. Victor couldn’t imagine Yuri’s misery.

The bump of Yuri’s knot grew under Victor’s palm. He growled beneath his breath as his hand was coated in Yuri’s musky leaking. 

_Resist, resist_ , Victor repeated in his head. He made a tight ring of his fingers, moved it up and down Yuri’s cock until it started to catch on that growing knot. Yuri was thrusting underneath him, against him, unable to control the way his hips hunched and he pistoned into Victor’s hand like it was something much more satisfying.

The scent bloomed as Yuri started to orgasm properly, not just his constant leaking precum. Victor locked his hand at the base of Yuri’s dick, behind that engorged knot, to give him the feel of tying, of a successful breeding. Yuri’s victorious roar made every bone in Victor’s body want to kill him, but instead he just kneaded his teeth at Yuri’s neck and licked at his blood until his dominance was satisfied. 

He felt Yuri’s instinct to turn, thighs shifting, leg trying to lift. Victor helped wrench Yuri’s cock back between his legs, furthering that illusion of breeding. The two froze like that for awhile, both panting.

“Fuck,” Yuri managed, though it still sounded more roar than words. He was covering Victor’s bed in seed, slow steady spurts of it, and every jet of vile liquid enflamed Victor as much as it cooled off Yuri. 

“Get off of me,” Yuri growled, starting to make sense of the world again, at least for awhile. 

“I’ll attack you,” Victor hissed against Yuri’s skin. “You’re marking my space.” 

Yuri’s hips rocked experimentally, finding Victor’s grip still between his legs. The urge to fight Victor was still strong, even if it was lessening, and only Victor’s teeth at his neck kept him passive.

“That…” Yuri panted, “was not like what they taught in class.” 

Victor snorted. “Most curriculum is written by and for betniks. Not us”

Yuri let his forehead rest on the duvet. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“I think most people know. You were pretty bad off at the rink.”

“No — This. Us. You. I don’t even — why’d you even help me?” 

Victor shook his head. He licked at the wound on Yuri’s neck again, eliciting another growl from the pinned blond.

“What!?” Yuri pressed. “Tell me.”

“I thought I could take care of it myself,” Victor said. “When it happened to me.” But touching himself had only made it worse, had only riled him up more. It was the opposite of satisfaction. “I don’t remember much of it. Just the pain.” 

Yuri’s eyes finally focused. He looked back at Victor, but Victor wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were closed, nostrils flared, and for a brief second Yuri realized the delicate situation they were both in, realized just how much restraint Victor had not to be ripping at Yuri’s throat. Yuri opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t even know where to begin. 

“…now what?” was what he finally managed.

“I’m thinking.” Victor’s brow furrowed. “You probably have a half hour before it kicks up again. Maybe less. First rut is always the worst, but it should be short. Maybe you’ll even be back at the rink tomorrow. I could call people… I know someone from the parlor, we dated for a bit, he could — ” 

“No,” Yuri said. His knot was starting to soften, slipping from between Victor’s fingers. “I don’t — I don’t want any of that. I’m not — “ He huffed. “I don’t want that yet.”

Victor reached to the edge of his bed, where he normally kept his scent eaters. He plucked three of them from the box and smoothed the cured cloths over Yuri’s cock, over his own hand. The duvet was a mess, but he started laying the nullifying napkins over the gelatinous drips and dribbles, scrubbing until he no longer wanted to eat Yuri alive. Then he wadded them up and tossed them in the trash can, carefully lifting off of Yuri.

Yuri turned on him on instinct, teeth bared, but Victor caught him again, held him against the headboard. He laid his teeth on Yuri’s neck until he calmed down. 

“It’s already starting again,” Victor said. “Isn’t it?”

Yuri groaned, “It’s so hot.” 

Victor watched the strain start up again on Yuri’s face, saw him start to thicken. “Victor,” Yuri whimpered. 

“I’m here. Look,” Victor said. “I’m here.”

Yuri’s hips wavered in the air, beginning their slow, needy undulations. Yuri used what remaining awareness he had to stare at Victor. Part of him still wanted to bite Victor’s face off, but the other part?

“Help me.”


End file.
